


Leather and Brimstone

by malekin



Series: Destiel Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:46:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malekin/pseuds/malekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble of some dark Destiel feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather and Brimstone

Sam didn’t know. It seemed like such a small thing and yet it wasn't. Sam always knew, when it came to Dean, Sammy was the one who could never not know.

And Castiel hated every moment of it. Every tired smile and nod of understanding when Cas said he needed to be alone. Every lead that didn't pan out. He could see the wear on the younger Winchester. His face drawn, the shadows pooling under his eyes.

Tonight was one of those times, when he looked in Sam’s eyes and watched them dim just a little bit more. When not a word was spoken between the two and he’d left the hotel room the normal way. Through the door. 

He’d been doing that a lot lately, moving slowly, mimicking Sam’s humanity as well as he could. It seemed to comfort him, a form of normalcy where none could possibly exist anymore.

The night was cool, the air giving the world a clarity that seemed as though the very color was sharper. Vivid against the dark backdrop of the night, even the blackness varied in it’s hues. It was beautiful. Such a stark contrast to the carnage they had followed. His destination had been hidden in the blood and viscera.

Simple Enochian, and he’d understood, as he always did, and he had come, as he always would.

Cas saw him, framed against the graveyard, leaning on the Impala, the only tangible piece of himself that he allowed to remain. Jeans and leather jacket still flecked with blood. Evidence of the scene he had caused, the artful display he had orchestrated to get Cas’ attention. To tell him, here I am, come play.

Gone was the green, as a punishment, as a reminder.

I am not the humanity you loved so much that you gave up the world.

Black was in it’s place, and a lazy smirk that held none of the warmth or humor it once had. His face so familiar and so cold, Cas could see his form, as he could see Cas’. He saw the blackness, the twisted damage wrought by the First Blade. But what he also saw, and never dared say, was a faint light. As though his soul had somehow managed to save part of itself. Buried deep but burning brightly just for Castiel.

It was that light that kept him coming back, and that’s the thought that he held onto when he lied to Sam, when he turned his back on the violence that had been done in his name. Even if he was the only one who knew it.

He had followed that light, he had bathed in that light. Wrapped up in heat and skin. Secret meetings that filled him, the violent clashing of their bodies against the darkness. Sweat and blood, screams and moans. He battled and lost, and won. Sometimes he won, and whether he was victor or conquered, there was a stillness afterwards. 

Trailing fingers, tongues and teeth. Secret meetings that left him hollow, to return to the real world. Smelling of him, of leather and brimstone.

Castiel had a secret, and Sammy didn't know.


End file.
